I've not been around for a while. I've had a really hard time these last few months, various shit going on that I've just not been able to write.
I'm currently lying on the floor in the room where Griffin died. On the floor because the bed is in pieces ready to be moved out. Probably the very last time I'll be in the house. It's strange. This is the longest place I've ever called home. My mum lived here for 4 years and I did on and off too due to ill health on both my and my mum's side. Then she moved out and couldn't sell cos of the property crash so was renting it out. When Griffin came along we moved in, for the grand total time of 5 weeks before I ran, grieving to Scotland and back to my family. This was just over a year ago and I've been back several times in a handy-girl role for the tenants.
The first time going back was tough but as with most of the steps on this road post Griffin it was the anticipation that was worse than the reality.
I wasn't sad about the house sale, until today. I've moved so many times in my life what's once more? But this one is different. I just spent half an hour crying. I am sad about the flat but mostly because it's the last tangible thing I have from my pre-Griffin life.
I don't like leaving him behind.